Like Sardines In A Can
by NeverMineToHold
Summary: Wherein the extraction after a botched mission is so heavily classic in style that William Brandt feels like a piece of contraband during the Prohibition... Rated M for some swear words; fluff, slash


Title: "Like Sardines In A Can"

Status: OneShot; complete

Fandom: Mission Impossible 4 – Ghost Protocol

Characters: William Brandt, Ethan Hunt (rest of team mentioned)

Disclaimer: MI4 belongs to Paramount Pictures.

Rating: M (for some swear words)

Genre: post-movie, established relationship, AU, fluff

Warnings: unbeta'ed

Summary: Wherein the extraction after a botched mission is _so_ heavily classic in style that William Brandt feels like a piece of contraband during the Prohibition...

Like Sardines In A Can

The trapdoor had fallen shut as soon as William had settled down on the hard cot; the noise of footsteps retreated over the ringing in his ears. He could lift his head maybe an inch before bumping into the wooden floor of a storeroom.

Said room concealing their shed was dimly lit by a single bulb that swayed under the ceiling, the movement sending random rays of light through a crack. That setting alone would have been enough to instill any sane person with a healthy dose of claustrophobia but the heavy seas and stench of rotten fish made it worse.

At least now William knew how dire the situation for the IMF truly was after the Ghost Protocol order had been revoked, considering that he got to experience an extraction that made him feel like contraband during the Prohibition. Or as if he had walked onto the set of that "Master & Commander" movie Benji had made them watch last week, appalled by his teams lack of interest in pop culture.

Had William known that it would turn out to be an educational lesson he would have actually paid a modicum of attention instead of snogging the living daylights out of Ethan. Or maybe vice versa, the details were a little blurry around the edges (coming down after a mission influenced by their team leaders particular brand of ill luck tended to have that effect).

Thinking of Benji led to thoughts of poor Jane, who had to share a cot with him in another shed. The computer specialist had looked as green as a clover with none of its luck as soon as they had left the harbor. No surprise there, considering that even William had to measure his breaths to deal with his queasy stomach.

The rolling and rocking of the boat increased with each wave, but down here it was so quiet it was hard to believe that a storm was raging outside. No thunder, no howling wind, not even the voices of the crew carried far enough to be heard.

It sent his instincts haywire on top of being confined in a shoe box with Ethan whose labored breath was the only input to draw his attention away from their ridiculous situation. It wasn't exactly a sound to put a guy at ease.

William had to tighten his grip when Ethan suddenly began to turn around in his encircling arms. Not that there was much space between cot and wall but if it was humanly possible to get stuck in that gap and crack ones skull open in the process, Ethan Hunt would pull it off.

Why everyone thought him invincible he had no idea, the man was the worst trouble magnet with an adrenaline addiction William had ever met. Of course the IMF loved that combination to pieces because it got them results, but it was William's pain in the ass job to be the hated voice of reason and step in when Ethan courted death with that shit eating grin of his.

William shifted as best he could to let Ethan's body fit in more closely to his own, all the while feeling the ripple of muscles under his hands with each sluggish movement. At least sleeping with each other, both literally and figuratively, had become so familiar that it reduced the risk of violence should Ethan come to without realizing where he was. He hoped. - And Benji accused _him_ of being a pessimist.

He heard Ethan swallowing a groan and then a hot face pressed into his chest while hands slid around him to complete the embrace. Pressed together like that William could feel him shiver. He let his hand wander up along the spine into the sweat soaked hair at the nape of Ethan's neck; his thumb stroking soothingly.

The fever had risen, but they couldn't medicate on top of what that little shit of a mark had managed to slip into Ethan's drink. The mission had been botched from the start, the second team compromised before the show had even begun and of course Ethan was the one to pay for it.

"...w'rry lines."

William caught the glint of open eyes in the darkness and breathed a sigh of relief. Six hours out cold were a new record for Ethan... well, at least as far as drugs were concerned. Fuck, he had a whole list compiled with Hunt related health hazards.

"You put them there so you don't get to complain when I end up all wrinkly."

Ethan tried to rise up onto his elbows, probably to make a show out of kissing said lines away (the sap), but William was quicker – which would have been impressive at any other time - and pushed him back down.

"Confined space, be careful."

Ethan hummed, the vibration running straight into William. He didn't lift his head from where it was buried to study his surroundings, which was a show of trust no civilian would have understood the sheer magnitude of. They had both come a long way since Seattle.

"Kinky, Will."

He huffed a laugh. "We'll get to that part – after a _long_ shower."

Ethan didn't respond and after a moment of intense listening it became clear that he had gone out like a light again.

For them life was raging storms, with hails of bullets, drugs and one insane mission after the other. Ethan thrived on that, while William enjoyed the calms in the chaos. They were alike and yet so different that they fit together.

So life was good, even if it reeked of rotten fish.

End


End file.
